Right Here With Me
by clintrasha
Summary: The slow burn that started in Right Where You Belong continues in the sequel. "'It's good to have you back, Tasha. Things were getting boring around here.' She nodded a little. 'It's good to be back. Trust me.' She sent him a weak smile and stepped into her room, closing the door behind her."
1. The One With the Homecoming

Natasha walked into the tower's common room stiffly and dropped her duffle bag by the door. Her eyes were a dull green without their usual mischievous glimmer and her exhaustion showed on her face. She had a cut on her cheek, she was fairly certain she had at least 3 cracked ribs, and she'd already had to pop her left shoulder back into its socket. She expected to be the only one awake in the tower considering it was late and she had essentially dropped off the grid for the duration of the time it took for them to complete their mission, opting to not call or check in with anyone, which meant no one knew when she would be home. She knew that was a dick move on her part, especially considering how worried Clint had been and the fact that she'd promised she would talk to him, but she'd had to bury any emotions she might have felt in favor of remaining effective as an agent. Talking to Clint, or any of the others for that matter, would have just brought too much to the surface that would have risked compromising her.

Clint hadn't been sleeping well in the 2 and a half weeks since Nat had left and started ignoring any calls and texts from the team. His sleep schedule consisted of puttering around the tower until about 2am and then drinking enough scotch to get him feeling drowsy so he could sleep for a couple hours before getting up for the day. He'd reached the scotch portion of his nighttime routine and was standing in the kitchen, his back against the counter, the glass in his hand, when the door opened and Nat slipped in. He relaxed almost immediately at the sight of her alive and breathing. She jumped a little when she finally noticed him, pushing her right hand through her curls and sighing softly.

"Don't _lurk_ like that, Clint. You know I hate it," she spoke in a flat monotone.

Clint frowned as he took a moment to really look at her. She was holding herself stiffly, she hadn't noticed him the second she walked in, and he hadn't seen her move her left arm from its position cradled against her side once since she'd walked in. She wore a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt that was much too big for her, and her eyes were dull with dark circles underneath them. In short, she looked like hell. He had expected nothing less.

"I'm hardly _lurking_ , Nat. The lights are on and I have no reason to hide from you," he responded in a frank tone as she made her way slowly around the counter into the kitchen. She reached to take a glass down from the shelf, wincing slightly at the extension, he assumed as a result of an injury he couldn't see. He moved behind her silently and got the glass down for her, setting it on the counter in silence.

She nodded once in silent gratitude as she took the bottle of scotch and splashed a small amount into her glass. Clint watched her intently. Natasha Romanoff was not one for scotch. She usually opted for just about anything else when that was what he was drinking. But, nonetheless, she took the glass and drank from it with no reaction.

Clint had promised himself that he would stay silent until she chose to initiate a conversation, but the longer he watched her, the more concerned he was. "Nat," he said gently, "have you had a medical check yet?" He knew she hadn't, but asking was always safer than trying to tell her that she needed to go to the med bay.

She let out a heavy sigh and shook her head. "I'm just going to sleep it off," she said, looking at the liquid in her glass rather than at him.

That was a load of bullshit if Clint had ever heard one. They both knew damn well that she wouldn't be sleeping at all for a couple of days and she wouldn't be sleeping normally again for several months.

"Tasha, you'll feel better if you let them fix you up. Come on. I'll go with you. Let's just get it over with." He was careful to keep his tone from sounding too patronizing. That would just piss her off and then she would never get checked out.

Nat finished off her scotch as she weighed the annoyance and inconvenience of letting a doctor check her out versus the guilt and irritation of arguing with Clint before finally nodding and setting her empty glass in the sink. He looked relieved almost immediately as he pulled out his phone and texted Dr. Cho to let her know they were coming. She didn't protest when he shouldered her duffle bag for her or even when he led her over to the elevator and hit the button to go down instead of taking the stairs like she always opted to. They waited for the elevator in tense silence, neither of them sure what to say to the other. They were both relieved when the elevator dinged and the doors opened. They stepped in and rode down to the medical facility. Nat was relieved when Dr. Cho was the one waiting for her.

Helen smiled politely. "Make yourself comfortable on that bed right over there. I'll be with you in just a minute, Agent Romanoff."

Natasha nodded and followed instructions, sitting on the edge of the bed apprehensively. Clint sat in the chair next to the bed, taking in her tense posture and knowing he was about to become a lot more concerned than he already was.


	2. The One With the Doctor

Natasha fidgeted as she sat on the bed, waiting for the doctor to come back and start the exam. Clint watched her for a couple minutes before speaking up.

"How bad is it, Tasha?" he asked lowly, looking up from where he'd been focused on his hands so he could look at her face.

She sighed softly and pushed her hand through her hair and shook her head a little. "It's not good," she admitted softly. "But I've had worse. I'll be fine in a couple weeks."

Clint nodded a little, sitting up straighter as Helen came back into the room.

"Alright Agent Romanoff, let's get started." She smiled kindly as she pulled her exam gloves on. She was gentle and didn't bother to try and make small talk with Nat while she took her blood pressure and temperature, and checked her eyes and ears. When she was finished with the general check, she stepped back a bit. Helen was a good doctor and she knew her regular patients well. Natasha was always more injured than she chose to admit, and right now Helen was sure that her stiff posture had something to do with an injury to her stomach or back that was hidden under her shirt.

"I can see you've hurt your arm somehow. Are you capable of lifting your arm to take your shirt off for me or should I cut it for you?" she asked gently, not giving her an option to leave the shirt on.

Nat shifted, moving as if to take her shirt off, but tensed immediately at the way her muscles moved. She gave in and shook her head a little.

"I kind of thought so." She rummaged through a drawer as she continued talking. "What did you do to your shoulder that's got you keeping it so close to your side?"

"I uh, I dislocated it. But I popped it back in. It's just still sore," she added quickly, knowing it was a painful procedure to relocate a joint and not wanting Helen to insist on doing it again.

The doctor frowned a little. "I'll look at that after I finish with this." She turned back to Nat with the scissors and stepped back over towards the exam bed. "I'll need you to lie back for this part."

Clint barely managed to resist everything in him screaming at him to help her as she eased herself back on the bed, her eyes shut tight against the pain it was clearly causing her. She didn't want his help. Not right now.

Helen barely gave Clint a second look as she carefully cut Nat's shirt away and tossed it into the trash, leaving her in just her sports bra.

"Christ," Clint murmured softly. With her sides and stomach exposed, the extent of her injuries was clear. There was a large, deep-purple bruise blossoming across her left side. A few small cuts were scattered across her stomach, intermixed with a few injuries that looked suspiciously like burns.

"I'll save you some trouble: my back looks the same," Nat said flatly, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Helen allowed herself to look over Natasha's stomach for a brief moment as she gathered her thoughts before gently reaching out to ghost a finger along her ribs, just to the right of the huge bruise. Nat tensed her muscles immediately, gritting her teeth against the pain at a touch so gentle she might not have felt it all at if it weren't for her injuries. Helen frowned.

"We need to do some scans, Agent Romanoff. A bruise this size combined with the swelling from the injury comes with the possibility of internal injuries. I'll do that and we can do an x-ray of your shoulder while we're in the room just to be sure that you didn't manage to fracture anything in there."

Nat shook her head a little. "I'll agree to the scans of my ribs, but I don't need an x-ray of my shoulder. It's fine."

The doctor paused and looked over at Clint as if for help. He simply shook his head back at her. He knew better than to argue with Natasha Romanoff about her injuries after a mission that had gone _well_. He wouldn't even think of doing it in a situation like this.  
Helen finally nodded hesitantly. "Alright. It'll just take a few minutes." The second part was mostly for Clint's benefit.

He nodded once. "I'll be waiting here when you get back."

Nat sat up carefully, holding her breath until she was upright and could slide off the table so she was standing, her arm still held to her side. Clint clenched his jaw a little hating seeing her deal with so much pain on top of all the mental shit she had to be going through. He sunk down in his seat a little and simply watched Helen lead Nat out of the room and down the hall to take the x-rays.


	3. The One With the Elevator

It felt like Clint sat and worried for hours before Helen and Natasha returned, but then everything kicked into high gear. The doctor wrapped up her injuries, put a small butterfly bandage over the cut on her cheek, gave her some pretty good pain meds, and instructed her to refrain from training for at least 2 weeks so her body could recover, and then sent them on their way.

Clint gave Nat his sweatshirt to cover up with before grabbing her bag and shouldering it for her as they headed out of the medical bay and back towards the elevator.

"Did she reset that shoulder for you?" Clint asked lowly as they waited for the elevator to come. He assumed the scans didn't show any internal issues or they would still be there.

Natasha simply nodded in silence, her eyes fixed on the elevator doors in front of them. It finally came a moment later and Clint let Nat step in first before following her in and hitting the button for the floor their rooms were on. He was bursting with questions but was carefully holding his tongue. It paid off because after a moment of listening to the whirring of the elevator, Nat spoke up, her eyes looking straight ahead rather than at him.

"I'm sorry I dropped off the grid," she said quietly but clearly. "I know you must have been worried so I'm sorry I didn't keep you in the loop."

Clint blew out a slow breath. "I'm not mad, Nat. I was worried, yes, upset that I didn't know where you were or what was going on, definitely, but mad?" he shook his head. "I trust you to know what's best. You know that."

She nodded, finally giving him a fleeting glance, her green eyes still dull and full of pain.

"I know you're really messed up right now, Nat. I can see that. I know what it's like, you know I do. So this is just me reminding you that I'm here when you're ready to talk about any of it. We all are. That's what this team is for. We fight battles together. We protect civilians, but we also protect our own. So whenever you're ready, you know where I live."

The elevator stopped and the doors slid open and he stepped out first, not expecting an answer from her. She followed him out in silence until they reached her door and he swung the door open, setting her duffle against the wall inside before stepping back into the hallway.

"It's good to have you back, Tasha. Things were getting boring around here."

She nodded a little. "It's good to be back. Trust me." She sent him a weak smile and stepped into her room, closing the door behind her.

Clint stood outside her door for a minute, half-surprised that she'd actually gone inside instead of breaking down and talking to him. He shrugged a little to himself before heading down the hall to his own room and closing the door behind him.


	4. The One With the Tears

Nat took the longest shower she'd taken in a while once she was alone. She turned the water as hot as she could physically stand and just stood under the spray, letting it wash away the dirt and grime of the past two weeks. She showered for about forty-five minutes before stepping out and pulling Clint's sweatshirt back on with a pair of her pajama pants. She wrapped her ribs up again carefully before sitting on her bed with her back against the headboard. She stared at the wall across from her until she finally gave up and shuffled down the hall.

Clint had tried to go to sleep, but he wasn't really succeeding, so he was still awake to hear his door creak open around 3:00AM. He folded his blanket over and sat up in his bed, clicking on the lamp on the table beside his bed. When he had confirmed it was Nat coming into his room, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and made room for her to sit next to him.

Nat entered the room as silently as possible, but she was grateful that the door creaked when she opened it because she wasn't really looking forward to waking Clint up. She sent him a small, sheepish smile through the dim light and sat beside him on the bed.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up," she finally murmured softly.

Clint shook his head immediately. "Don't be ridiculous. I wasn't sleeping anyways."

Nat opened her mouth to say something else, but quickly closed it again when she realized her throat was too tight to let any words out. Clint simply wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close to himself in silence. She resisted at first, her sore shoulder protesting against the contact, but she eventually gave in and allowed herself to be held, even wrapping her arms around Clint's waist. After a few long moments, he laid back on the bed with her still in his arms. Every single muscle in her body screamed at her in pain, begging her to get out of his hold and stand up, but she ignored them, allowing Clint to tuck her head under his chin and hold her against his chest. Lying there in his arms, she felt safer and more relaxed than she had since the moment she'd gotten that phone call from Fury a little over two weeks ago.

"Thank you," she finally said in a voice hoarse with emotion.

"What for, Tasha?" Clint murmured back, his fingers pulling through the ends of her curls subconsciously as he held her.

"Thank you for loving me." With that, her voice broke and she began to cry silently, her whole body shaking as Clint's arms tightened around her and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She cried until she fell asleep, feeling safer than a baby swaddled in its mother's arms.


	5. The One With the Breakfast

Clint woke up first the next morning, although he wasn't sure he'd really call the state he'd spent the last four hours in "sleeping". It was more of a state of constant fear of moving and waking Natasha up, mixed in with brief moments of restless sleep. All this to say that he gave up fighting for a few more minutes of precious sleep around 7:30. He was loathe to move and wake Nat up just because he was up, so instead he carefully took out his hearing aids and set them on his bedside table so he could stare off into space in silent peace since he'd fallen asleep with them in and missed his night hours that were usually filled with the deafening silence (pun very much intended). He held Nat's sleeping form for nearly another two hours before she finally shifted on his chest and looked up at him.

"Morning," she murmured, blinking sleepily up at him.

Looking at her face nearly broke his heart. The cuts from the night before were more obvious in the morning light and her bruises had darkened slightly against her pale skin, matching the dark circles under her eyes and giving her a haunted look that was only heightened by her persistently dull eyes.

"Morning to you," he spoke at a carefully measured volume. "How do you feel?"

She carefully sat up off his chest, pushing her curls out of her eyes and wincing a little at her muscles' protests to the movement.

"Sore," she finally said honestly, careful to enunciate her words so he could understand her better, "but better now that I got some sleep. Thanks for letting me crash in here. I don't think I would have slept at all on my own."

"You know my door's always open, Nat." He picked up his hearing aids and put them in before standing up off the bed. "Feel like breakfast?"

She simply nodded and stood up, shoving her hands into the pocket of the sweatshirt she wore before following him out the door and down the hall towards the kitchen, which was already filled with the sound of various voices talking softly and silverware against dishes. The room briefly fell silent as the pair stepped into the doorway and Steve, Wanda, Sam, and Bucky all stopped what they were doing to look at her with varying degrees of concern and pity. Steve broke the standstill first and crossed the room, resting a hand very gently on her shoulder and giving her a small smile.

"It's good to have you back, Romanoff," he said softly, his voice filled with sympathy.

Nat smiled politely up at him and nodded once before turning to look at Clint with a vaguely pissed-off expression. "So you told everyone?"

He winced apologetically. "It's hard to explain away a two-week absence and the fact that I wasn't there with you. Sorry. They were instructed not to make a big thing of it, but they've clearly disregarded that direction." He gave the others in the room a look that told them exactly how unimpressed he was.

None of them seemed very intimidated and they gradually went back to their eating and conversations, leaving the two to their own breakfast.

Clint poured their coffee and handed her one of the mugs with a soft "Don't burn your tongue" before cradling his own, blowing gently across it, closing his eyes, taking a slow sip, swallowing, and sighing softly as he leaned back against the counter. He opened his eyes to see Nat giving him a small smile. Some things really would always be the same.

They made their respective breakfasts in contemplative silence, sharing the kitchen space easily until they were both ready to eat. Clint picked up his plate and motioned towards the balcony with a raised eyebrow before leading her outside at the slight nod of confirmation she gave him. He set his plate on the table out there before closing the door behind them and sinking into one of the chairs, looking out over the city. Nat followed suit and the silence they'd adopted to prepare their food stretched out as they began to eat, interrupted only by the sound of the city waking up stories below them.

Clint gave in first and glanced at her over the top of his mug as he spoke up. "So how do you really feel? Because I don't want to be rude or anything, but you look like hell."

She managed to crack a small smile at the comment. "Honestly? I feel like someone ran over me with a truck and then backed up just to make sure they got me good."

He nodded once, satisfied that it was the truth. "We can go get some of those pills that you left downstairs last night once we're finished eating. There's no reason for you to keep hurting. Besides, I could tell Helen was itching to give you a sling for that shoulder and I think it'd be a good idea for a couple days."

She frowned around her mouthful of eggs and swallowed before answering. "I'll take the pills, but I'm not agreeing to the sling. It feels like wearing a strait jacket and I hate it."

Clint simply nodded and let the quiet span the gap between them again as they finished eating. Nat finally glanced over at him and then back out at the city as she spoke.

"I haven't forgotten that I agreed to talk to you about this." She said softly.

Clint raised an eyebrow and took another drink of his coffee. "I didn't think you had. You're not the forgetful type."

She nodded. "It's just a lot, you know? I think I have to do a lot of my own processing before I can talk about it. I don't even know how I feel yet."

He reached his hand across the table and rested it on top of hers gently. "I think you do," he murmured softly. "I think you know exactly how you feel and that scares you. You don't like to admit that you're affected by things like emotions and you like it even less when they have this big of an effect on you. And that's fine, I didn't expect anything less from you, so take all the time you need to come to terms with that, but don't label it something it isn't. Lying to yourself never makes things like this any easier."

She chewed on her lip, feeling his words hit directly in the chinks in her armor as she worked to keep her face neutral and her stare straight ahead. "I don't know when you got all wise and perceptive and shit, but I don't love it," she finally said, looking at him with a watery smile.

He gave her a crooked smile back and squeezed her hand gently. "You just never give me a chance. I've always been this wise," he teased before pulling his hand away and stacking their dishes. "I'm going to get us some more coffee."

With that, the door slid shut behind him, leaving her alone with her thoughts.


	6. The One With Stucky

Wanda and Sam had left the kitchen at some point, leaving Clint with just Steve and Bucky as he washed their dishes and refilled the mugs.

"She looks really messed up, Barton," Steve eventually spoke up from behind him. "Physically _and_ emotionally."

"No shit, Rogers," Clint bit out sharply before sighing and turning around to face the two, leaning against the counter. "Sorry. That was uncalled for. I'm just wound pretty tight right now. And it doesn't help that I didn't sleep last night."

Steve sent him a small, pitying smile. "I don't think anyone expects any less of you right now. I shouldn't have said that. It was unhelpful."

"No, it's okay. I just feel helpless right now. I just want to be able to make this all better and I can't. There's nothing I can do to make this better for her."

"I think you're doing a great job," Bucky spoke up, shrugging a little. "Look, Nat went and spent two weeks in her own personal hell. Trust me, I remember what that place is like. Even being there with the knowledge that she was taking them down for good had to have been quite the trial for her. She spent an entire two weeks scared shitless and shutting it out for the good of the team and her mission. Nothing will fuck a person up more."

Clint blinked once at him. "I know that, Barnes. What I want to know is how I can _help_ her now that she's back."

"Like I said, you're doing all you can." He tucked his hair behind his ears. "It's going to be a long and painful process, but you're doing the most important thing you can do just by being there for her. I've been officially 'cleared' by S.H.I.E.L.D. for a couple months now and I still don't feel one hundred percent like me, but having Steve by my side and knowing that he'll be there no matter what and drop everything if I need him?" He shrugged a little, reaching out and taking Steve's hand on the counter. "That's all I ever could have asked for. Nothing is more important to her than your presence right now. Even when she begs you to leave her alone, don't go too far."

Steve smiled sadly and squeezed Bucky's hand before looking back at Clint. "He's right, man. If there's anyone here that understands the helpless feeling, it's me. But Buck has always insisted that all he wanted was for me to be there. I'm sure that whatever you're doing for her is more than enough. It's just going to take time. But we're all going to be here to do all we can. And hey, it's over now, right? They're gone for good. We can all sleep a little easier. Some of us more than others." He glanced briefly at Bucky who was nodding along with him.

Clint smiled a little. "I reminded her that you guys are all here too. I knew you would be." He picked up the mugs and headed back towards the balcony. "Thanks guys, really."

"Yeah, no problem. Hey, maybe you two will even figure out how to stop pretending you're just _really good friends_ through this whole thing." Bucky supplied, smirking proudly.

Clint simply stacked one mug on top of the other and flipped him off behind his back before opening the door and going back outside to Nat, shutting the door on the sound of the couple's teasing laughter.


	7. The One with Phil

Nat barely glanced up when Clint stepped back out onto the balcony and handed her one of the mugs before sitting back in his own seat and letting out a slow breath, pushing a hand through his hair. He fixed his eyes on the skyline of the city and leaned back in his seat before taking a long sip from his mug. They finished their coffee in comfortable silence before going back inside and heading to their respective quarters. Clint refused to force her to talk to him before she was ready to come to him. He knew that would just result in her throwing her walls up, shutting him out, and likely refusing to talk to anyone about it ever.

Days passed and then weeks. Natasha declined Clint's offer to share his room, insisting that she was sleeping fine, but he and everyone else in the tower knew that she was spending long hours jogging in the training room after midnight to wear herself out. She was the last one to retire to her room at night and the first one up in the morning and few of the hours in between were spent in her bed. The moment her mandated two weeks of "rest" had passed, she went back to working at a punching bag whenever she had a free moment. Clint grew increasingly worried, knowing that shoving all of her emotions and feelings down for so long would only make them harder to deal with when they came to the surface, but he still refused to push her into talking before she was comfortable.

Nat had been feeling guilty ever since that day at breakfast that they'd spent in silence. She knew Clint was a man of his word, but he proved it over again every day that he let her continue to dance around the elephant in the room and she was starting to feel the guilt grow heavier every time she saw him and they skirted the issue. It was a well-rehearsed dance between the two of them by now, but she could feel him growing impatient, knowing that he wasn't the best at ignoring an issue, especially when it was hurting someone he cared about.

It was a Thursday evening when someone finally intervened. It was nearly 10:00 and Nat had given in and headed down to the training room earlier than she usually did. She was working at the bag, her back to the door and her music playing loudly as she took out all of her frustrations on the bag, her hair tied back in a lazy ponytail and sweat beading up on her forehead.

"You know you're killing him, right?"

Nat jumped a little at the sudden sound in the room, immediately dropping her hands and telling Friday to pause her music before turning to face the unexpected visitor. Coulson stepped into the room and tossed her a towel which she caught and wiped across her face.

"You're killing him and you're not helping yourself any either," he continued, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest as he looked at her.

Nat shrugged a little. "If it was really killing him, he would break down and ask me about it," she said, knowing she was lying through her teeth.

"Don't bullshit me, Romanoff."

Natasha's eyes widened at the casual curse that was so out-of-character for Coulson, but he continued on without giving her a chance to speak.

"Clint is moping around my office much too often, asking every day if you've filed your mission report yet because even reading that would make him feel better than not knowing anything about your two weeks in hell. It also hasn't escaped my notice that you've been practically living down here in this gym, even before you were supposed to be training." He sighed heavily as he looked at her. "Please just get it over with and talk to him. You'll both feel so much better once you have."

"It's not that simple, Coulson," she sighed, tugging her hair out of its ponytail and tying it back up again a moment later.

"That's just the thing, Natasha. It _is_ that simple. Or at least it can be as soon as you get over yourself and do it," he sounded exasperated and looked like he'd spent long hours in his office this week.

"I don't understand why you care so much about whether I talk to Barton or not," she replied stubbornly. She never had liked being told what was best for her.

"Oh I don't. But _you're_ about to care a lot more than you do right now. Because now that your required two weeks of medical leave is over, you are suspended from active duty effective immediately, until you can pass my evaluation and I have no concerns about sending you back out in the field."

Nat's jaw dropped as she looked at him, searching his face for any hint that he was being less-than-serious. "Tell me you're joking," she said flatly when she didn't find one.

Coulson simply shook his head. "I take the well-being of everyone on this team very seriously, Agent Romanoff. If I don't believe that you are 100% fit to be back out in the field, I refuse to send you out there and put your life – as well as the lives of others – at risk."

"So you're going to keep me here in the tower on lockdown until I talk to Clint about this whole thing?" Nat's posture was stiff and her jaw was clenched tight as she stared Phil down.

"That's not what I said. I merely said you have to pass my evaluation. When I feel you're ready, I'll take you off your suspension. However, I will say it's going to be hard to pass that evaluation without talking with _someone_ about that mission, even if that someone isn't Barton," he kept his voice even and unwavering. Being on the receiving end of Natasha's anger was nothing new to him and it hadn't taken him long to learn to keep himself cool and composed in the face of it.

"This is _bullshit_ , Coulson. You can't force me to talk to someone."

"I think you'll find that I can. And I suggest you do so soon because we both know how much you hate to sit around and do nothing."

She watched him for a long moment, taking in the lines of his face and the underlying tension in his posture that he was working so hard to hide. He didn't want to do this to her any more than she wanted him to. Coulson was like that. He'd invariably choose the course of action that made him the bad guy if he believed it was for the better of one of his agents. It was why she and Clint usually just referred to him as "Dad" among themselves.

She finally blew out a long breath "Fine," she said stiffly. "I'll talk to him. And then I'll fill out that mission report that Fury's been nagging me for since the second I got back."

She bent and picked up her sweatshirt and water bottle off the floor, tugging the hoodie on over her head.

"Am I dismissed?" she asked with a bored look on her face. She knew she was being a whole lot bitchier about this whole thing than was necessary, but she was frustrated and angry so she didn't really care.

Coulson sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. "Yes, of course you can go. Goodnight, Romanoff."

She simply nodded back as she stepped past him and out of the training room, disappearing down the hall.


	8. The One With the Surrender

Natasha showered for longer than she usually did, using the time to debate with herself over Coulson's words. She knew she could fight back against him if she wanted to; she might not win but she could definitely buy herself some more time. She knew she wouldn't do that though because Coulson was a higher-up that she was expected to take orders from and she had always been pretty good about obeying orders. Besides, somewhere in a part of herself that she had mostly managed to bury, she knew he was right. She wouldn't be able to move past this until she'd talked to someone about it.  
Resigned to her decision to talk to Clint, she stepped out of the shower and dried off, pulling on comfortable clothes before leaving her room and heading down the hall to Clint's. She knocked twice and took a half-step back as she waited for him to open the door, fidgeting with the hem of her sweatshirt.  
Clint opened the door with a raised eyebrow as he looked at her. "So you knock on the door now instead of just barging in whenever you feel like it?" His voice held a light note of teasing that helped to ease her nerves just slightly.  
Nat shrugged a little back. "It felt like the polite choice."  
That did the opposite of clearing anything up for Clint. Instead, his heart clenched a little. If she was worrying about manners there was probably something else going on too. Something bigger. He simply took a silent step to the side to invite her inside. She ducked her head a little and brushed past him before he closed the door behind her.  
Clint watched her hover near his dresser, feeling a sense of déjà vu back to that mission a couple months ago where they'd exploded into that fight. He thought briefly about how much had happened for them since then.  
After a moment of standing by the door and watching her shift uneasily on her feet, Clint crossed to perch on the arm of the chair beside his sofa, hoping to help set her more at ease.  
Nat watched him closely before pushing a hand through her drying curls. "Dad yelled at me," She finally started softly with a wry smile.  
Clint let out a soft chuckle. "Let me guess, something along the lines of 'Get Clint the hell out of my office before I lose my shit completely'?"  
Nat raised an eyebrow, relaxing a little against the dresser but keeping her distance across the room from him. "He doesn't actually swear like that around you, does he? He called bullshit on me a couple minutes ago and actually used the word instead of the abbreviation like he usually does. It really threw me off."  
Clint shook his head a little. "No, he doesn't talk like that. But he does that thing with his eyes and his forehead where he doesn't really need to, you know?"  
Nat nodded, smiling slightly to herself. They really had won the jackpot with Phil as their handler. "Right. Well, he yelled at me. Basically told me to pull my head out of my ass."  
Clint grinned, his eyes sparkling teasingly. "I've been telling you that for emyears/em, Tasha. You're telling me all it took was hearing it one time from Coulson and you folded?"  
"He had a better point than you usually do. And he's a superior which you're not," she said simply, folding her arms and shrugging a little.  
Clint only looked her over for a moment before nodding once. "He threatened to suspend you, didn't he?" he asked softly.  
Nat nodded a little, not bothering to make herself look sheepish. They both knew she often needed some good motivation to pull her out of her stubbornness. Clearly Coulson knew as much too. "Yeah. He did. I needed it. Did he tell you he was going to?"  
"He might have mentioned it the last time I was in there badgering him about your report. I didn't really think he was serious though. I guess I probably shouldn't be surprised by him anymore, but here we are." He gestured vaguely around himself.  
"Right. So I'm here to talk. Because I promised you I would and I don't like to break promises. And because I would really rather not fight with Coulson."  
Clint simply raised an eyebrow at her and she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes. "And because I need to talk about it so I can move past it."  
Clint smiled smugly and nodded once. "Christ, Nat. It's like pulling teeth with you sometimes." He kept his tone light, knowing that if shit got too real too fast she was likely to change her mind and shut down.  
She blew out a long breath as she searched for words. "I don't know where to start," she finally admitted, looking to Clint for help.  
He sent her a small smile. "Well let's start easy. How about you tell me the story from the beginning. I've found that's generally the best place to start."  
Nat sighed heavily. "I swear to God I should have just let Phil suspend me. I bet it's not too late…" They both knew her threat was empty and the silence only stretched out for a moment before she spoke again. "The worst part was how much nothing had changed," she murmured softly, leaning back against the dresser.  
Clint was a little surprised by how open and relaxed her posture was, but he didn't let it show. He simply nodded and slipped off the arm of his chair to sit cross-legged in the center of it, his hands holding his crossed ankles comfortably as he looked at her in expectant silence.  
She pushed a hand through her hair as she continued. "Different building, same layout, same routines. They were always a well-oiled machine of efficiency and I guess they weren't planning on giving that up, even if it meant they'd be less predictable. Although, they had no reason to suspect that anyone was monitoring their activity or watching for them to pop up again. Shield's good about staying off the radar." Now that she was talking, she could feel the vise grip around her throat relaxing a little with every word. She was comfortable enough to stand up off the dresser and cross the room to sit on the edge of Clint's bed.  
Clint's eyes tracked her movements closely and he took it as a good sign that she'd moved to a position farther from the door and an escape route. "So you managed to get the drop on them." It wasn't so much a question as a confirmation that he was listening to her.  
Nat glanced up almost as if she'd forgotten he was listening and she nodded a little. "Yeah. We spent the first week and a half doing surveillance and making our entrance plan. When we finally went in, our only choice was a firefight. We'd been trying to avoid it because we obviously knew there were children inside, but there was… a disagreement," she murmured the last word quietly and Clint frowned.  
"What kind of disagreement?" He pushed gently.  
"Let's just say that if you see that new agent McMillan around and notice the black eye and split lip it's because he and I had differing opinions on whether the girls deserved to be treated as children or as ' the brainwashed killing machines they are'," she said tersely, clenching her fist even as she said it.  
"Jesus Christ," Clint murmured lowly. "You told Coulson about that, right? That kid's gotta go." Clint's jaw was clenched and his grip on his ankles tightened as he imagined how Nat had to have felt hearing that. It wasn't like she didn't think that enough about herself already. He wanted to wring McMillan's neck himself.  
Nat simply shook her head a little. "It's okay, Clint. It stung, but it was an understandable comment. I don't need to tattle on him or anything." She avoided looking at him, knowing that if she saw his face and his reaction to the comment then she would just be angry all over again.  
"Anyways, so we went in soft, but there was a pressure plate we hadn't seen on our sweeps. It was disguised someway I've never seen before. So that set off a small charge, just large enough to throw me into the corner of a wall," she gestured to her injured side, "and fuck up my ribs a little. After that they knew we were there and I wanted to keep to a stealthier approach but McMillan went in guns-blazing and made the decision for the rest of us."  
Clint cringed a little at the mention of being thrown into a wall. He'd experienced the same before and it was never fun. As much as he got lectured for jumping out of the occasional window, he much preferred the way they gave way under his weight to the unforgiving solidity of a concrete wall.  
Nat forged on ahead. "The layout didn't have a whole lot of surprises after our surveillance, and they weren't ready for us so there weren't any extra guards or anything. I helped the others for a little while with the guards that were there and when they had it under control I went back to find the main office."  
Nat fell silent for a moment at that and Clint – assuming this was where things really went pear-shaped – stood up from his place on the chair and crossed to sit next to her on the bed, not touching her but close enough that she could initiate contact if she decided she wanted it.  
"I saw Yelena," she finally said after another minute. Natasha didn't like to talk about her past a whole lot, but Clint figured that out of anyone here, he knew the most about her time in the Red Room. There might be more information in her file that he didn't know about, but even if Fury and Coulson had read the whole thing – and they would be the only ones with clearance high enough – they didn't have the emotional insight into the facts that Clint had from his conversations with his partner. So the simple three-word sentence made his eyes lock onto hers in a way that no one else's would.  
"Yelena," was all he could say back, knowing that she would understand the confirmation that he remembered their history.  
Natasha nodded. "She was pretty much running the place. She'd barricaded herself in the back office. By the time I fought my way inside she had an army of older girls between herself and me. I guess they had graduated and knew what to do. I didn't even get a chance to try and talk them out of throwing their lives away for her before the cyanide caps in their teeth got them. Old-fashioned but still just as effective."  
"If it ain't broke…" Clint murmured softly without thinking, still trying to process the information Natasha had given him. He watched her simply nod a little out of the corner of his eye. "So Yelena got away?" he asked softly, knowing he was on thin ice.  
Nat stiffened, but shook her head as she answered. "I left the girls there and went after her. I tried to bring her in but it wasn't an option. Target neutralized, mission complete," she finished robotically.  
Clint winced a little at the voice. "Tasha," he said gently, "you did what you had to do. Anyone else in Shield would have made the same call. It's what we're trained to do."  
Nat shook her head a little. "I don't regret making that call. I wish I'd never had to, and I wish she'd never been forced to turn into that person, but I don't regret making a call that traded one life for a couple hundred."  
Clint nodded slowly as he looked at her. "So what is it that's sticking to you about this mission? Don't get me wrong because I would understand if your history there was the only thing, but I know you and it seems like more than that."  
Nat could feel herself close off again and sat up a little straighter, not bothering to fight back at her instincts. "It's a lot to absorb, Clint. I imagine you would be pretty messed up for a while if you went back to the circus for some mission and you ended up having to kill the one friend you had while you were there." She said flatly, standing up off the bed and running her hands down over her pants as she gathered herself, signaling that the conversation was over.  
Clint stood up as well and raised his hands in mock surrender. "I didn't mean to piss you off or push too far or anything Nat. You don't have to go. Let's just hang out. It's been a while."  
She simply shook her head, but sent him a small smile to let him know that she wasn't angry. "I'm just tired. I haven't been sleeping well. We can talk more later, okay?"  
Clint sighed, but nodded. "Okay. Get some rest, Romanoff. You look like hell." He teased gently before closing the door behind her and flopping backwards onto his bed. What a day.


	9. The One With the Couch

Natasha tried to sleep, she really did, but it took less than two hours for her to give up and walk out to the common room. Now that she'd told the whole story and brought it all up from where she'd been keeping it locked in, she couldn't close her eyes without seeing Yelena or those girls that so quickly sacrificed their lives without knowing the chance they had to live such better ones. So, she padded out to the common room and made herself a cup of tea, sitting on the couch with a blanket over her lap and the mug cradled in both hands, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the city, as dark and as quiet as it ever really got.  
Natasha was only alone for about half an hour before she heard someone else's steps coming down the hall and into the room behind her. She didn't even have to look up to know that it was Clint joining her; she would know his steps anywhere. Clint came in and settled in next to her in blessed silence, his feet propped up on the coffee table and one arm propped up on the back of the couch behind her. Natasha simply shifted the blanket so it covered his legs as well. She didn't have to ask how he knew; Clint always knew.  
It took less than an hour for Clint to succumb to sleep, his breaths deepening and evening out and his arm slipping from the couch to her shoulders as his muscles relaxed in sleep. Natasha refused to wake him, knowing that she was already the source of many lost hours of sleep for him over the last two months. She remembered the night that this whole thing started, smiling a little to herself as she set her empty mug to the side and relaxed against Clint, accepting that this was where she would be sleeping tonight. With her head on his chest, his arm around her shoulders, and a blanket over them, it was more comfortable than a porch swing by far and it didn't take her long to drift off, feeling safe in his arms.


	10. The One With Tony Stark

"I'm just saying that if anyone else tried anything like that with her, they'd lose that arm."  
"Nat woke to the hushed sound of Tony's voice in the kitchen behind her. She decided to wait a minute longer to let him and whoever was with him know she was awake, wanting to hear a little more of the conversation.  
"Everyone needs physical comfort once in a while, Tony," Bruce said in his constantly calm voice. "It's only logical that Natasha would accept it from Clint given the closeness of their friendship."  
"Well maybe next time I have a rough day I'll go to Natasha and see how willing she is to comfort me."  
Natasha eased herself out of Clint's grasp and stood up, turning to face Tony with a stoic look on her face. "Do you have a preference in which arm you lose that day? I'll make a note," she said as she stepped past Tony and poured two mugs of coffee, knowing that Clint would be awake in a moment if he wasn't already from her movement.  
Tony muttered something intelligible into his coffee and Nat simply smiled smugly to herself, taking a slow sip of her coffee before fixing Clint's and carrying it over to the couch where he was just sitting up, pushing a hand through his hair groggily. He thanked her softly as he took the mug. Neither of them noticed Bruce and Tony slip out of the kitchen as Clint took his first sip and Natasha watched his little ritual with a faint smile ghosting across her lips.  
"You get any sleep?" Clint asked after he'd opened his eyes. "I didn't really mean to fall asleep out here but I figure you weren't planning on going back to your bed anyways and that you'd wake me if you were."  
Nat nodded a little. "Yeah. I got a couple good hours. And you're wrong, I wouldn't have woken you. No reason to."  
Clint just shrugged one shoulder. "Better than a porch swing, right?" He teased, his eyes sparkling.  
She chuckled softly. "I had the same thought last night." Nat took a long drink from her mug, feeling Clint's eyes practically boring a hole through her as she did. "Clint," she sighed, turning to face him, "I'm fine. Really. It's been a crazy couple of months, but I've talked it out and today I'll fill out my mission report and then Coulson will take me off my suspension. Getting back out in the field is really what I need anyways."  
Clint raised one eyebrow skeptically as he looked at her, but simply nodded. "You can't blame me for worrying."  
She shook her head a little. "Of course not, and I don't. But I promise I'm not going to go off the rails or anything, alright? Tell you what, I'm going to go write my mission report and then I'll meet you in the range for some target practice, okay?"  
He smiled and reached out, squeezing her shoulder gently as he nodded. "Deal. Text me when you're headed down."  
Natasha nodded back before standing up. "Will do. It shouldn't take me longer than an hour and a half to write this up, two hours at the most after I talk to Coulson about my suspension getting overturned."  
Clint settled back into the couch with his coffee. "It's a date."


	11. The One With the Author's Note

Hello lovely readers!

I'm so sorry to bait you with a new chapter after all of this time of nothing, but I wanted to update everyone who's been looking out for me to update again. I obviously don't update on a set schedule or anything of the sort. I'm a student in university as well as working two jobs so I am VERY busy. I also never wanted to make this feel like work so I'd lose the fun in it. All that to say, I keep working on this story when I have the time and the motivation, which hasn't happened in quite some time. Lately, however, I've been getting back into it. I have also moved over to AO3 under the same username and published the first story in this series there. I began writing bits and pieces of these stories about three years ago now, and I have grown as a writer since then. So I am currently going through everything I've written for this story and editing it, changing parts that are clunky or that I think are out of character. When I finish that, I'll be continuing on in writing new chapters, but all of the new stuff will be posted on AO3. I will eventually post it all here as well, updating the old chapters with the new ones as I go, but it will likely be significantly later, so if you want to follow along as I go, please feel free to check me out over on AO3! Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me so far! I love to read your comments and reviews! 3

TL;DR - I've moved over to AO3 under the same name. I'm editing and rewriting bits of RHWM and posting the updated chapters there as I go. I'll eventually post it all here too, but it likely won't be for a few months still. Feel free to check me out there! Thanks!

-Trash


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